Love At First Bite
by Unnatural Disaster
Summary: -AU- Feliciano is very passionate about pasta. Passionate enough to risk being mauled by his twin brother. Passionate enough to convert a certain German into a pasta cooking chef, just so he can get his daily dose of pasta. ItalyxGermany.


**A/N: Just a short (well, in my world it's short) one-shot. Main pairing is N. Italy and Germany. I find this couple very, _very _cute. They're simply adorable together! There are a few mistakes, I ran though this over a few times, but I'm human and it means I can't exactly catch all the mistakes I make. Well, thanks for stumbling onto this page, and reading it. Reviews are appreciated :) Now, on with the story. **

***Just a few days ago, I noticed all the line breaks I had dissappeared. o_o Sorry for any confusion, and I fixed it. (:**

* * *

Feliciano didn't know what to do.

Should he listen to his stomach, which is practically shouting out _pasta~ _or listen to his brain which is screaming _don't do it!_?

Staring at the minute hand of the clock that was hung above him, he was ready to rip his auburn locks off, barely a minute passed since he last looked at it. He didn't know what to do anymore. After a rather embarrassingly loud grumble that was emitted from his stomach, he jolted up. Papers fluttered everywhere, his computer screen blinking off and on due to the fact that he pressed some random key on the keyboard.

Glancing at the clock once more, he noticed that another very long minute passed. Taking in the time, he knew his older brother would be very pissed at him for doing this.

But he couldn't fight against the urge anymore.

He needed his pasta!

Shoving his chair aside, he raced down the aisles within the office, causing more paper to flutter and attracting the stares of his fellow colleagues. Making a sharp turn, the glass door that kept him from the outside world came into view. He gasped. He was going to make it! Shedding off his formal, stiff, jacket which was tossed aside to god-knows-where, Feliciano felt himself gaining momentum.

The door was now at least two yards away. He knew he would make it. He was the star of the track team in high school. No one can outrun him, especially if he was scared. That's when Feliciano is at his fastest.

Snapping out of his daydream, he knew he was suppose to stop somewhere around no-

His face suddenly encountered the glass door in an uneventful meeting. His face smacked the glass door with so much force, Feliciano was surprised the door didn't break. He can imagine his co-workings wincing at the sight, muttering 'ouch'.

Rebounding, he shot up and scrambled to push the door opening, finally escaping the office.

Cheering as he ran towards the elevators, he yelled out in joy, scaring the bystanders and innocent people that just happening to be in the same place at the same time is Feliciano.

Feliciano was now free. His older twin brother, Romano, was nowhere in sight. He knew he wouldn't be on him for at least another hour.

An hour eating pasta…

Feliciano licked his lips, catching some of the drool that escaped with his tongue. He couldn't wait.

Oh, the joys of pasta.

* * *

"Oi, bastardo, have you seen my brother?" Romano growled, signaling that he was _not _in a good mood. First of all, the meeting that would've affected the company's profits drastically didn't go to well (hey, he couldn't help it, they were a bunch of idiots, spouting nonsense that caused him snap) and he had to do as much as he can to repair the damage that he_ indirectly_ caused. After all, it wasn't his fault.

And now, he really didn't want anyone to bother him at the moment. But the only person at the office at this time was… that bastard.

"Romano~," the guy who was typing up some documents on the keyboard now spun his chair so he was facing his boss. Waves of euphoria radiated from him, it isn't everyday that _the_ Romano talked to him. Politely too, well, as polite as Romano can get.

"Don't call me that, you fucking bastard, it's Mr. Vargas to you," Romano snapped, his glare intensifying with every second that passed, "And where the fuck is my brother?"

His green eyes looked into Romano's brown ones.

"You mean, Feliciano? Oh, he ran out. Apparently, he's taking his pasta break," Antonio answered.

He instantly regretted.

Romano slammed down the binder that he was holding in his hand, and papers started to fly everywhere, decorating the office. The angry Italian started spewing curses in his native language by the minute. This is one of those times that Antonio was glad that he didn't understand anything that came from his boss's mouth.

"Antonio, you are cleaning up this fucking mess that you caused," Romano spat at him. Antonio sighed. Somehow, he knew this was going to happen.

"Yeah, see you after work too, _muchacho_," Antonio whistled, his Spanish accent interlaced with his voice.

"Don't make me come after you," the Italian whipped around and growled, his face blushing at least ten different shades of red.

"You didn't sound like that last nigh-" Antonio was cut short by a binder who flew by his way which missed, but barely. Since the binder missed him, it hit the computer that was behind him, causing the screen to crack and glass started flying everywhere. The computer short-circuited, causing sparks to fly.

Not only did the document he was typing up before, completely lost, but knew he had a feeling that the broken computer was coming out of _his _paycheck, not Romano's. Sighing, he started picking up the broken glass and randomly placed paper around the room.

He would get Romano after his shift was over.

Definitely.

* * *

Due to the horrible economy, many of Feliciano's favorite Italian restaurants have been closed down. Heartbroken, he wandered around the city, trying to find some decent restaurant that wasn't fast food, which was very hard since every corner he turned; there was a McDonalds or Burger King waiting for him. Sighing, he kept drifting. There had to be some sort of restaurant that sold pasta, _fresh_.

Soon, he entered unfamiliar territory. Feliciano looked around, confused. He didn't know where he turned, and when, the only thing that he could conclude was that he was lost. When he tried to read some of the street names, none of them rang a bell.

Actually, scratch that, he was _extremely _lost.

Not knowing what to do, Feliciano began to feel tears pooling around the corners of his eyes. He didn't know what, he didn't know where he was, he doesn't have a cell phone to call his brother to pick him up, there was barely anyone around, the-

Feliciano sniffed the air.

Was that what he thought it was?

Yes! It is!

"Pasta!" Feliciano shouted, letting his nose lead him the source of where the wonderful smell came from. It had to be pasta!

Eventually, he ran into a small, little restaurant, which was located in the middle of nowhere. Feliciano could practically smell the pasta coming from the kitchen. It was as if his feet had a mind of his own, he unconsciously started inching closer and closer to the restaurant. Opening the door, the sound of bells resounded throughout the restaurant. He didn't even realize he was inside the restaurant until someone snapped him out of his day dream.

"Hey," an albino waiter snapped, "Are you going to eat? Or what?"

Feliciano stopped daydreaming, startled by the red eyed man, who had silver locks framing his face. Wiping some of the drool from his mouth, Feliciano was a bit confused, "Huh?"

"Che, don't make the awesome me repeat myself," the albino huffed, Feliciano then caught his name on his name tag, which read 'Gilbert', "I said, are you going to eat or what?"

"Pasta!" Feliciano exclaimed.

"… I'll take that as a yes. Table for one, huh? No wait, don't respond to that, the awesome me already knows," Gilbert took a menu and walked Feliciano over to a table near the window.

This restaurant was a bit small, but Feliciano didn't mind, he actually prefers cozy places than ones with endless amounts of tables. It always gave him a sense of security and feels a bit like home, like the one he had in Italy. The restaurant was dimly lit, but gave off a home-esque feel to it. There was a couple sitting at another table, and a few people here and there. Soft music played in the background, adding in the mood.

"Anyways, welcome to _Liebe auf den ersten Biss_**, **what would you like?" the albino waiter asked, tapping his pen again the table, waiting for his customer to order.

"Eh? Do you happen to have pasta?" Feliciano asked, wide eyed.

"Hm, actually, yes, we do. My brother has been working on a pasta recipe lately. You want a plate?" Gilbert said, waiting for his customer to answer.

"Yes! Pasta!" Feliciano exclaimed, overjoyed.

"Okay, one plate of pasta coming up, and now the awesome me will be right back," the albino disappeared into what Feliciano assumed was the kitchen.

* * *

"Hey, Ludwig," Gilbert barged into the kitchen, disturbing his brother who was currently frying some potatoes and wrust.

"W-what now?" Ludwig stammered, recovering from his previous, abrupt encounter with his older, red eyed albino brother while trying to stop his potatoes from burning. Whipping the switch for the stove to off, Ludwig wiped his hands on his aprons and looked up, cocking an eyebrow at his brother. His platinum blonde hair was slicked back, his blue eyes shone with slight confusion.

"One order of pasta," the albino said, moving over to the frying pan and taking it off the stove, pouring it onto a plate and proceed to decorate it with unnecessary, but pretty little items, making it look even more appetizing.

"But I haven't perfected that recipe," Ludwig responded, not happy with the idea that Gilbert mislead a customer into believing that they served pasta, "Besides, last time I checked, this was a _German _restaurant, as in we don't serve Italian food."

"Recipe, smeshcipe, he'll forgive you because the awesome me is serving him," Gilbert said hotly.

"…," Ludwig just stared at his brother incredulously, not even bothering to acknowledge the previous statement that his brother just uttered.

"You're just jealous of the awesome me, so stop staring at me like that. Just cook that pasta," with that, Gilbert took the tray of potatoes and strode out of the kitchen, dripping confidence.

"I can't believe we're related," the German man muttered as he started working on the pasta that a customer ordered.

* * *

"Here, the pasta you ordered, mister," the albino waiter came back, setting a tray of pasta in front of Feliciano. Feliciano licked his lips; he hoped that after waiting a long time, it would be worth it.

"Oh, it's Feliciano, by the way, I'm too young to be called mister," he spoke up cheerfully and received a weird look from Gilbert, who didn't press on.

Tucking a napkin into his shirt, Feliciano took the fork that was placed next to his plate and stabbed it into the pasta, and proceeded to twist it, gathering a lump wrapped around the fork. Lifting it up at an amount he was satisfied with, he opened his mouth wide and stuffed the fork wrapped with pasta in. He then pulled the fork, which came out clean except with a few streaks of tomato sauce.

Gilbert looked at Feliciano intently, wondering how the pasta tasted.

Chewing on it for a bit, Feliciano was in deep thought until-

He immediately spat the pasta out and choked a bit, trying to get the last remains out of his mouth. Feliciano contemplated whether or not to drag his tongue out and take a piece of sand paper to it. This was the most horrible pasta he ever tasted.

"What is this _shit_?" Feliciano exclaimed rather passionately, "This can't even be called pasta!"

Gilbert didn't know what to do, but he had to do something. The last thing he wanted is for this guy to demand, he almost gasped at the thought, a free meal or a refund.

"Er-" Before Gilbert managed a word, the strange Italian, he assumed from his accent, pulled out what looked like several small jars of spices. He didn't know how he fit all of those jars in the pockets of his pants, but he certainly did, unless he mysteriously pulled them out from nowhere, which Gilbert highly doubt.

"Give those to the chef, his pasta will definitely improve," Feliciano said exuberantly, "And can I borrow a phone?"

Gilbert whipped out his cell phone, and told the Italian how to make a call. Scooping up all the jars of spices in one hand and taking the plate of pasta in another, Gilbert somehow maneuvered his way into the kitchen.

* * *

Ludwig did not expect his brother to come back with barely eaten pasta and an arm full of jars which contained mysterious substances that he couldn't identify yet.

"What the hell did you put in that pasta, Ludwig?" Gilbert asked, very confused. He set down the jars of spices on one of the kitchen counters, which was inhumanly clean thanks to Ludwig's OCD. Gilbert set down the tray of pasta next to the spices, and Ludwig immediately walked over there, making sure that not a single drop of tomato spilled onto the counter.

"Why?" Ludwig asked, just as confused.

Gilbert looked at the blond haired man, "Well, the guy almost choked on it and displayed a look as if he wanted to sand paper his tongue in order to get rid of the taste."

"It's not that bad," Ludwig muttered, scooping some of the pasta with a spoon and proceeded to eat it.

Ludwig immediately turned blue, and looked like he swallowed some biological weapon.

"Okay, maybe it is that bad," Ludwig muttered.

"I don't think I want to eat that anytime soon," Gilbert eyed the pasta suspiciously, "Besides, Feliciano said those jars of spices would improve the pasta."

"Feli- who?" the blond German took the plate and dumped the pasta in the trash, and placed the plate in the sink with the pile of dirty plates that accumulated over the day.

"Feliciano. The dude who ordered the freaking pasta."

"I am going to fucking maim you," Feliciano had to move the phone a few inches from his ear in order to prevent his ears from going deaf. He was right, his brother is extremely pissed. Turns out that meeting he mentioned didn't go too well…

"Nii-chan," Feliciano whined, he could feel his brother's eyes rolling at the nickname he picked up from his Japanese colleague, "I need someone to drive me or at least get me because I don't know where I am. At first, I was wandering in order to find some restaurant to eat pasta in, but they all closed down and I was wandering again, making turns left and right and then I got lost in this creepy neighborhood and then I stumbled upon this cozy looking café, and ordered pasta which was horrible, and then-"

"Okay, okay, I fucking get it," He could hear his brother's annoyance laced within his voice, "Just tell me the intersection of two streets and I'll pick you up."

Feliciano peered out the window, and told his brother where to pick him up.

"Just go down two blocks, and I'll be there."

Feliciano soon met the dial tone, and it signaled him to hang up. Taking out some bills and placing it on the table, he placed the waiter's phone on top of it and left.

* * *

Gilbert didn't expect that the Italian man would come back the next day. He seemed rather upset with the pasta, and despite the fact that he left rather large bills and didn't even wait for change, Gilbert really doubted that he would see him again. Yet he's waiting at the door, waiting for someone to serve him.

It looks like he couldn't get enough of his awesomeness. Walking towards, the Italian who was standing at the door, he greeted him and guided him the same seat as yesterday. He sat the menu down and walked away, wondering what he would get. There was the same amount of people today as there was yesterday, and Gilbert hopes that the Italian would become one of his new, returning customers. He was surprised that his restaurant didn't close down due to the lack of business yet.

Striding back to the Italian, Gilbert took out a pad and paper, waiting for his order.

"So, what would you like today?" Gilbert asked.

"Pasta!" the Italian exclaimed rather energetically. Gilbert eyed the weird kid. He thought that the last thing he would've ordered is pasta, since he had that horrible episode with his brother and his… pasta yesterday.

"You sure?" Gilbert asked, making sure that the brown haired male didn't change his mind, or if he misheard.

"Yes, I'm sure. Pasta~"

Gilbert walked away, mildly confused. That guy must have some sort of thing for pasta.

Entering the kitchen with the order, he saw his younger brother working diligently, frying potatoes, they were one of the café's most beloved dishes, and they were ordered by the customers who actually enjoyed eating here. Which was rarely any, but that wasn't his point.

"Ludwig, one order of pasta," Gilbert announced, startling his younger brother. Again.

Letting a curse in German slip, his younger brother immediately turned the fire off on the stove to prevent the potatoes from burning and looked at him, giving off a slight glare.

"Didn't I tell yesterday? For Pete's sake, we don't serve pasta. As in, this is a German restaurant," his younger brother said calmly, but Gilbert heard the annoyance in his voice, loud and clear.

"But didn't I show you how much he left after that one crappy dish of pasta? We do need the money, but don't worry, this restaurant will stay open as long as the awesome me is still alive," Gilbert boasted, arrogance dripping in his voice.

"…," Ludwig gave him that incredulous look again. This was almost a daily routine between his older brother and him, apparently he's convinced that his name is a synonym for awesome.

"Come on, besides, haven't you been working on your pasta anyways? This could be a chance to see if you improved or not," Gilbert said, taking a different approach and trying to coax his brother.

"…Fine," the German man grumbled, wondering why he was listening to the albino man anyways. Maybe he's gotten soft over the years, or maybe he just doesn't want to somehow get pulled into a pointless argument with his brother. Again.

His brother grabbed the frying pan full of potatoes and poured them onto a dish with wrusts on the side, placed it in a tray, and walked outside. Ludwig really never figured out how his brother was able to take long, crooked strides and balance the tray filled with food in only one hand. He had to give him some credit; it takes a lot of skills.

"Well, let's get started on that pasta," Ludwig muttered to himself.

* * *

Feliciano knew he had a reserved spot in his twin brother's personal hell after making a second, successful attempt at ditching work just so he can eat pasta. He didn't think his brother would really try to maim him yesterday, although Feliciano knew his brother wasn't all bark. He can bite. Regardless of this, he would go the ends of the world for pasta. So, he made majority of the major decisions in the company he worked for, but at this point, he really didn't care. He was in the middle of hopefully converting another ordinary chef into a chef that can whip up a mean batch of pasta.

He waited patiently, watching people walking by this restaurant, not even giving it a second glace and the thought of eating here never entered their minds.

Feliciano sighed; he didn't want another restaurant closing from the recession, especially since he was on his way to converting this restaurant into one that serves pasta.

Before he knew it, the albino waiter came out, and placed a dish in front of him. It was the pasta he ordered!

Feliciano sniffed it, this pasta has a different smell than the one he ate yesterday, which he assumed was a good thing because the chef probably used his spices. Taking a fork, he dove into the pasta, twisted it into one big glob and placed it into his mouth.

Chewing on it, Feliciano decided that this isn't that bad, at least it was a big improvement from yesterday. He could tell his spices did help, but it was the chef that made the major improvement. But still, there was this odd- unlike pasta flavor to it, he couldn't pin point it.

It suddenly hit him.

Maybe it was the pasta sauce the chef used!

"Um… Mr. Waiter? Sir?" Feliciano waved his hand rapidly, catching the attention of the albino waiter.

"Yeah?" the silver haired male gave him a weird look.

"Tell the chef," Feliciano pulled out a jar of his homemade pasta sauce, the recipe passed down from generation to generation, and handed it towards Gilbert, who sported an even more confused look, "To use this pasta sauce. It will improve his pasta! Then, I was be able to eat pasta here every day~"

Gilbert didn't mind obeying the Italian, if it meant that he would have a new returning customer. So, this is a German restaurant, but who cares? Desperate times call for desperate measures, and maybe this pasta will bring in more customers. Walking to the kitchen with the jar of pasta sauce, he left the Italian alone, eating his pasta.

"Ludwig. Use this pasta sauce. We'll be rich," Gilbert shoved the jar of pasta sauce onto Ludwig's hands.

"W-w-what?" Ludwig cried out, in disbelief.

"Come on, that Italian runt keeps coming back for pasta, the least we can do is make it properly for him. Besides, maybe this dish will bring in more customers," Gilbert peered cautiously at his brother for a response. Usually, he's very… stubborn about certain things, including matters that involved Gilbert making decisions.

"I don't know, I prefer if this restaurant stays centered around the German culture…," Ludwig mildly objected.

"Fine then, I guess I'll have to cook the damn pasta," Gilbert then promptly smirked as he saw his brother's reaction.

"It's okay. I'm fine, I'll cook the pasta, no need for you to help out in the kitchen," Ludwig said, panicking slightly. The last time his brother tried to cook in his kitchen, he had to close down the entire restaurant for three days in order to get the kitchen back to its functioning state.

"Good. I want it to be perfect by tomorrow, I'm pretty sure the kid would appreciate it if you actually cooked it to his liking," Gilbert walked out of the kitchen, leaving his sulking brother behind.

* * *

Feliciano was back again, at the cozy restaurant he found a few days ago. He still isn't regretting the decision he made to ditch work and eat pasta. He originally would be able to go every day, because there used to be and Italian place near his work building, but it closed down, like most of the restaurants Feliciano enjoyed visiting, due to the not so great economy. Now, he had to go further into the city just to get pasta. He didn't mind, but his brother did.

By now, he was pretty sure that Gilbert, the one and only waiter in this place, knew what he wanted. When Feliciano stepped in the restaurant, Gilbert didn't even bother with the menu. He just guided him to the table near the window, and asked him politely to wait for a couple of minutes. They both know that Feliciano was only here for one thing.

Pasta.

In a few minutes, Gilbert came out with a tray of fresh, steaming pasta. Feliciano immediately perked up, he can smell the improvement the chef made in only three days, which is a lot. Gilbert set the plate of pasta in front of Feliciano, and muttered a small 'enjoy', before walking away and leaving the Italian alone with his pasta.

Feliciano took in the scent of the pasta in one long inhale. It smelled more delectable than yesterday; he could tell that the chef definitely used the pasta sauce, which pleased him. Feliciano began taking a fork and stabbing it into the pasta, and started twisting it, which formed an odd ball around the pasta. He opened his mouth and shoved it in. The fork came out clean.

Chewing on it, Feliciano couldn't help but be impressed. The chef improved dramatically, but it still doesn't have that Italian pasta feel to it. It taste nothing like the first time he ate it but there was still that odd, lingering flavor that he couldn't pinpoint. The only way to get rid of it is to attack the source directly.

"Er, Gilbert?" Feliciano waved his hands in the hair, trying to catch the albino waiter's attention.

Gilbert quickly walked over to the Italian, wondering what was wrong with his pasta now.

"Can you bring me to the chef?" Feliciano asked, which earned him a puzzled glance from the waiter.

"Why?" Gilbert inquired, curious as why he would want to see his brother.

"Because I'm going to teach him how to cook pasta properly," Feliciano answered with a serious expression on his face.

Gilbert didn't want to laugh, fearing it would offend him and cause him to leave in a fit, and not paying for his meal. He decided to comply with his request, after all, how bad can it be?

"Sure, just follow me," Gilbert motioned for the Italian to get up. He took his plate filled with pasta, and walked towards the kitchen.

* * *

During the past few days, Ludwig has been experiencing many things he didn't expect. Such as his brother misleading customers into thinking that they serve pasta, which they _don't_. But this probably topped it all.

Ludwig, frying potatoes and wrust like usual, was unpleasantly stunned when his older brother entered the kitchen with a stranger. He would think that since Gilbert was the older one out of the two siblings, he would have more common sense and reasoning. Throughout the years, Ludwig found this to be very untrue, and that his brother has the common sense of a rock. Then again, in this world, common sense is the least common thing.

Glancing at the stranger behind him, Ludwig noticed his odd behavior. The stranger, who had auburn colored locks, light brown eyes, and at least two inches shorter than himself, glanced around the kitchen in awe. He radiated an aura of happy-go-luckiness. He then looked at his brother, who seemed to be occupied with something, since he was staring at something intently. The stranger turned around, and boldly met his own crystal blue eyes. He titled his head in a confused manner, which seemed adorable to Ludwig, causing him to blush slightly.

"Eh? Why are your potatoes burning?"

This caused Ludwig to turn his head around in a flash, quick enough to cause whiplash, but it didn't due to past experiences. He noticed his potatoes were a charred black color, and immediately turned the stove off. The last thing he needed was his kitchen catching on fire, which would inconvenience him greatly.

"Gilbert, why didn't' you tell me that they were burning?" Ludwig asked, a bit frustrated.

"Oh, I thought you would notice," Gilbert responded nonchalantly.

Ludwig's eyebrows twitched slightly, the urge to choke his brother suddenly increased quite dramatically. Remembering the anger management classes he took, he did a counting exercise that calmed him down. Looking at the potatoes, he realized they weren't burnt that bad, just a bit darker here and there. The customers would live.

Glancing at the stranger behind his brother once again, Ludwig asked, "Who's that guy behind you?"

"Feliciano. The guy who ate your pasta," Gilbert responded, and proceeded to speak in German, "_Apparently, he wants to teach you how to cook pasta, like a real Italian_."

"_Are you sure about that?_" he glanced at the auburn haired male behind him, his face displaying a look of confusion, due to the fact that he probably doesn't have the slightest idea to what they were talking about.

"Yeah, positive," Gilbert quickly switched back to English, "Now, before the customers start complaining, hand me that pan of potatoes." Ludwig did as he asked, and Gilbert left the kitchen with them, saluting him and mouthed the words 'have fun'. He knew his brother was teasing him, which annoyed him slightly.

"Where's your pot and pasta?" Ludwig almost forgot about the smaller man, who was standing next to him, glancing around his spotless kitchen for the ingredients he was seeking.

"Er, o-over here," Ludwig stammered a bit, not used to strangers. He doesn't have any friends ever since he immigrated to this country, and didn't bother to make any. Ludwig handed him some pasta, leftover pasta sauce he used yesterday, and a bunch of spices from the Italian that he kept in the corner of his cupboard.

"Now, we begin," the Italian exclaimed exuberantly as he turned on the stove.

All throughout the lesson, Ludwig observed the Italian intensely; listening to ever word that passed his lips as he explained his ways of making pasta while demonstrating what he said. Ludwig would blush every time they made unnecessary eye contact which would produce a 'cute' from the Italian, causing Ludwig to blush even further. Not only that, but Ludwig found himself nervous around the smaller male, he was unsure of what to do. His presence only made Ludwig stuttered more, and it didn't help that the Italian (whether on purpose or not, Ludwig didn't figure it out yet) bumping into him and making skin contact. It would then trigger him to blush profusely.

"So, that's how you make pasta!" The Italian exclaimed, smiling his 1000 watt smile at the German, instigating him to blush.

"Get two plates," the Italian nudged him, snapping him out of his embarrass state. Ludwig obliged and took out two plates. Feliciano proceeded to scoop some pasta, and pushed the plate towards Ludwig.

"Go ahead, try it," Feliciano looked at Ludwig closely, waiting for his reaction.

"Er- okay," the German proceeded to grab a fork from one of the utensil holders and twisted some onto the fork, trying it.

Feliciano broke out into another smile as he observed the German man in front of him break out into a state of pure bliss.

"See? Isn't it good?" The Italian scooped some pasta from the pot onto his plate, and started eating it.

"V-very good," Ludwig responded, "Why do you come here when you came make your own pasta, which is better than mine?"

"Because, I work at a building and I need something to eat for lunch," Feliciano answered, "And pasta is best fresh from the pot."

"I understand," Ludwig said, nodding his head, "Still, sorry for my pasta, but I hope you know this is a German restaurant. We serve potatoes and wrust."

"Oh, so that's why it smell that weird smell when I enter," Feliciano murmured to himself, which caused the German to look at the Italian strangely, "No wonder I didn't understand…"

"Understand what?" Ludwig asked curiously.

"What does _Liebe auf den ersten Biss_ mean?" The Italian cocked his head slightly; his cute expression triggered another blush from Ludwig.

"It means 'love at first bite'," Ludwig translated.

"Oh," the Italian muttered in understanding.

Ludwig looked at the smaller male as he continues to devour his pasta.

Love at first bite indeed.


End file.
